


Joust For Lovers

by Silver_Scribbles



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Explicit Language, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Multi, jousting!AU, mild voilence, slightly nsfw, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 06:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14665026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Scribbles/pseuds/Silver_Scribbles
Summary: For yoiroyaltyweek Days 2&3: Star-Crossed & Tokens of Favour.Sir Viktor Nikiforov is his kingdom's greatest Knight; sworn to serve as Prince Yuuri's personal guard.They didn't expect to fall in love.Now, the Prince is betrothed to another, and Sir Viktor must face Yuuri's future husband in a high-stakes joust.





	Joust For Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is my combo-entry for yoiroyaltyweek Days 2&3: Star-Crossed & Tokens of Favour.
> 
> Find more awesome yoiroyaltyweek entries [here](https://yoiroyaltyweek.tumblr.com/)! If you like this story, check out my tumblr, [silverscribblesuniverse](https://silverscribblesuniverse.tumblr.com/) and my [other fics on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Scribbles/works)!
> 
> QUICK NOTES:
> 
> Jousting, as it was done in medieval times, didn’t really have a standardized set of rules (as far as historians can tell). So for this fic I’ve used a combination of Modern Jousting rules/terminology, and those established in the movie “A Knight’s Tale”. It essentially boils down to: hit your opponent, try to knock them off their horse, and don’t fall off your own. Unseat your opponent and the match is over. 
> 
> Ranks & Titles in this fic are loosely based on British peerage (which I chose because of the jousting), but the fic isn't meant to be set in Historical England (I was going for more of a cultural-mosaic fairytale kingdom with Medieval European aesthetics, lol). Also, there are some slight differences in titles & forms of address for the purposes of this AU.
> 
> See ‘End Notes’ for Terminology, Notes About Peerage, Clarifications and more!
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:
> 
> Explicit Language  
> Mild Violence – blunt force trauma and vomiting, but no blood or gore  
> Slightly NSFW – Implied Sex, Implied Nudity, Post-Coital Cuddling, Kissing, and Innuendo (all consensual)

Early morning sunlight drizzled in through the arching stone window.

Viktor rolled over, nuzzling further into the heavy brocade covers. Beside him, his lover slept on peacefully; soft raven hair splayed out across the pillows.

Yuuri was beautiful; even rumpled and heavy with sleep, the Prince was always a sight to behold.

With a dozy smile, Viktor reached over, brushing a few wayward strands off Yuuri’s face.

Viktor almost always awoke first, being naturally inclined to mornings; but he didn’t mind. If it meant he got a few more minutes to savour precious moments like these, he was more than happy to rise with the sun.

He was lucky to even be here at all, he knew; tucked away with Yuuri like this, in the private sanctuary of his royal chambers.

Viktor’s heart ached, knowing it could not last.

The Prince was engaged to be wed; betrothed to the first born son of a neighboring Kingdom.

And Viktor was nothing but a knight; the Prince’s personal guard, who’d gone and fallen in love with the man he’d sworn to protect.

Both had known from the start that this was a doomed romance; but right here and now, wrapped up in the warm embrace of their bed, Viktor couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Their simple spark of attraction had ignited a love more radiant than the sun, and every single scorch and blister and burn was worth it, to bask in those glorious rays.

The knowledge that they’d soon be forced to part wore on Viktor’s heart of course, but by now, he had collected enough affection to last a lifetime; tenderly preserving every kiss and glance and vow in the secret recesses of his heart – like a dragon hoarding treasure.

He cuddled in closer to Yuuri, snaking one arm gently around the Prince’s waist.

With a sluggish groan, his lover began to stir.

Viktor smiled, craning up to press a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s temple; breathing in the sweet scent of his personal perfume as he did so.

“Mmm,” Yuuri hummed, his voice sleepy and full of smiles, “’morning”

“Good morning, my love,” Viktor murmured, planting a gentle line of kisses down Yuuri’s neck, “it’s time to wake up,”

Yuuri’s face scrunched in disapproval, “Nooo,” he whined, rolling over to nuzzle into Viktor’s chest. He hadn’t yet opened his eyes, “too soon,”

Viktor couldn’t agree more.

“The joust is today,” he said instead, carding his fingers through his lover’s hair, “wouldn’t want to miss that,”

Yuuri frowned and made a very undignified noise as he snuggled in closer; tucking his head beneath Viktor’s chin.

The Prince sighed, “The only Knight worth watching is you,”

Viktor nearly turned to cinders; moments like these made all the heartache worthwhile.

“Well in that case,” Viktor teased, “don’t you want to come lay witness to my _inspiring_ victory?”

Yuuri snorted and pressed a kiss to Viktor’s clavicle.

Silence.

Then, “Cassius will be there,”

Yuuri’s voice was soft; sorrowful and resigned as he spoke the name of his betrothed.

Viktor smothered his bitterness, “Then, I’ll defeat him too,” he offered gently, “I’ll win the whole tournament. For you, my love,”

The Prince smiled, but his voice remained hollow, “That’s sweet . . . but you know Prince Cassius won’t be allowed to lose,” he chided, “The tournament is in his honor, after all. Don’t risk his ire on my account,”

Viktor didn’t reply; pouting as his hopes were dashed.

“Please, Viktor” Yuuri urged, “Promise me you won’t anger Cassius . . . if anything happened to you, I don’t think I could bear it –”

Though jealousy plucked at Viktor’s heart, he opted for humility; remembering his place.

“I promise,” he whispered, with a tender kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

The oath turned to ash in his mouth.

Viktor wished he could object; wished he could offer Yuuri a victory worthy of his love – a gesture so grand, it would prove that The Prince’s heart belonged to him and him alone.

But even so, his beloved made a good point.

The joust was part of a week-long festival, to celebrate the royal nuptials. It wasn’t so much a competition as it was a performance; a charade – a show of strength, to assure the peasantry that their Prince’s future husband was truly of superior stock.

Not that anyone would admit such a thing aloud, of course; but among the knights, it was common knowledge that any who went up against Prince Cassius were expected to graciously throw the match – for the good of the alliance.

Viktor swallowed his pride; it tasted awfully of crow.

“In that case . . . I’ll defeat everyone until Prince Cassius and I are paired, and prove my love that way instead,” he vowed.

Yuuri peered up at Viktor though his lashes, “You don’t have to prove anything,” he insisted, “I know I have your love . . . and that’s all I’ve ever wanted,”

Viktor beamed, committing Yuuri’s beautiful, infatuated smile to memory.

Mercy, how he would miss this.

 

*****

 

The sun was high and bright, shining like a beacon over the list field.

Viktor sat astride his white steed, lined up at the edge of the tilt yard with the others ‘competing’ in the joust.

In the distance, Prince Cassius was showing off in front of the royal box. Yuuri stood at the rail, watching as his fiancée pranced about on a coal-black stallion.

Viktor sighed; his Prince was truly a vision this morning, looking resplendent in a regal doublet and cloak of royal blue velvet. The doublet was embroidered with silver thread; the trim of the cloak, pure white fur. His ebony hair had been perfectly coiffed; swept back from his face to accentuate shy, beguiling brown eyes rimmed in kohl.

Yuuri glittered like a midnight sky; beautiful and breathtaking and completely out of Viktor’s reach.

It very nearly cut him, how easily Yuuri could charm Prince Cassius; how graciously he spoke to him, how warmly he smiled at him, how patiently he entertained his antics.

Viktor took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was all for show; Yuuri didn’t like this any more than he did . . . the Prince was simply better at hiding it.

Not for the first time, Viktor cursed the circumstances of his birth.

“Pfft. Stuffed shirt,” Mila huffed atop her sorrel-coloured mare.

“Hmm? What?” Viktor queried, eyes suddenly snapping away from Yuuri; worried he’d been caught ogling.

Mila cast him an incredulous glare, working a purple lace scarf into a bow around her wrist as she did so.

“ _Prince Cassius_ ,” she drawled, “just look at him over there; that pompous, primping –”

“He could stand to be a bit more . . . subtle,” Christophe agreed, leaning in from the end of the line to add his two-cents. His palomino mare snorted, as if in agreement.

“I’m with you,” J.J. huffed.

Viktor raised a skeptical brow; Sir J.J. wasn’t exactly known for his _tact_.

“Don’t get me wrong,” J.J. clarified, “I’m all for showmanship . . . but there’s a _fine line_ between entertainment and ego-stroking,”

“I just hope he’s not my _first_ opponent,” Leo pouted, “It’s no fun to be taken out so early –”

A cry from the center of the line interrupted their gossip.

“Hey!” Michele snapped, glaring daggers at Mila, “Where did you get that scarf? It looks just like –!”

“ _Lady Sara’s_?” Mila finished smugly, examining the lace on her wrist, “Hmm . . . I suppose it _does_. Probably because it _is_ ,”

Michele’s face went red, “W-WHAT!? But . . . but _I_ was going to win for Sara! She’s _my_ sister – why would she give _you_ a token?”

“None of us are _winning_ anything,” a sombre voice corrected sharply.

Next to Viktor, Seung Gil scowled, arms crossed as he sat astride his piebald stallion; the bright, multi-coloured caparison of his steed a stark contrast to the knight’s ever-present frown.

“We are to ensure that Prince Cassius is victorious, remember?” Seung Gil growled, “The tournament is so rigged, it’s hardly worth tilting,”

Leo shrugged, “well, at least we can still compete amongst ourselves . . .”

“That’s right!” J.J. agreed, “And I’m going to best _every last one of you_! Then Lady Isabella and I will –!”

“It’s an _elimination_ -style tournament” Seung-Gil sighed, “you’ll only face two of us at most. _If_ you’re lucky –”

“You know what I meant!”

“Yea, don’t be so bitter, Seung Gil!”

“I’m just being _realistic_ –”

“I think you’re being a poor sport –”

The knights continued to natter, hissing at one another over the ears of their steeds.

But Viktor was no longer paying attention, his eyes drawn inexorably back to –

Yuuri . . . _his_ Yuuri.

And _Prince Cassius_ . . . who was now making some sort of grand proclamation in front of the crowd; a declaration of the romantic variety, no doubt – if the enamoured eyes of a dozen gentry were anything go to by.

Viktor scowled, as he watched Yuuri blush and turn away.

Anyone else might assume the gesture was shy, or coy, or coquettish, but not Viktor; he knew Yuuri better than that.

No, the Prince wasn’t _pleased_ . . . he was _embarrassed_.

Viktor was _intimately familiar_ with Yuuri’s _real_ ‘flirty face’ – and Yuuri’s _real_ ‘flirty face’ was _far more_ –

The Knight’s heart suddenly stopped.

Because there, right before his very eyes, Yuuri was reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a dainty periwinkle kerchief, scented with his own personal perfume.

The Prince leaned over the rail and held it out to his betrothed. Prince Cassius reached up to claim the token; his sharp, black-brushed gauntlet crushing it like a flower between metal teeth.

The crowd cheered; Viktor growled.

He continued to seethe as Cassius’ valet affixed Yuuri’s token to the shoulder-strap of his shining black breastplate.

The kerchief fluttered in the breeze, cascading like a waterfall over Cassius’ right pectoral.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut.

It just wasn’t _fair_.

 _He_ was Yuuri’s Knight, _he_ was Yuuri’s champion, _he_ was Yuuri’s beloved . . . not this _home-wrecking pretender_.

That should be _Viktor_ wearing Yuuri’s token; _Viktor_ riding for the Prince, _Viktor_ making public declarations.

It stung more than he'd anticipated; to be the Knight with Yuuri’s favor, and yet forbidden to bear his token.

The longer Viktor gazed upon that fluttering blue kerchief, the angrier he became.

 

*****

 

Yuuri turned away from the rail sharply, hiding his face as he took his seat in the royal viewing box.

Ugh; how utterly _mortifying_.

His parents and sister ignored him; placated now that he had played his part without throwing up or fainting or running away. Which, to be fair, were all completely valid concerns.

It wasn’t that Cassius was _terrible_ , per se –

Well, alright, perhaps ‘terrible’ was apt; terrible and tedious and talkative.

But he wasn’t a ‘bad person’ – not in the sense that he was ‘evil’, at least.

He was just . . . so . . . so ‘ _Cassius_ ’. The name an adjective in its own right; synonymous with ‘arrogant’, ‘spoiled’, ‘pig-headed’, ‘over-confident’, ‘long-winded’, ‘callous’, ‘obnoxious’, self-centered’, ‘narcissistic’ –

Well, to put it bluntly, Prince Cassius made Sir J.J. look _humble_ by comparison.

Yuuri sighed, trying his best not to look too put-out.

“Aw, how _romantic_ ,”

A soft voice snickered to his right.

“ _Lord Phichit_ , I swear –”

“What?” the Marquis held up both hands in mock-surrender, “I’m just _happy_ for you My Prince, that’s all!”

Yuuri sighed again, this time with a little smile, “You take far too much pleasure in my misery, you know,”

Phichit shrugged, “True . . . but what are best friends for?”

A fanfare sounded and the competitors processed down the tilt, ready to begin now that Cassius was finally done peacocking. The riders paraded past the stands, greeted by a swell of cheers and thunderous applause.

First came Prince Cassius himself, sitting tall and proud atop his black stallion; adorned in his regal black and silver heraldry. His garniture was finely crafted and obviously very expensive; a decorative pattern of tiny fleurs de lis looped across the face of his armour, and his horse’s chamfron had been engraved to match. More silver fleurs de lis adorned his steed’s black velvet caparison, shining like puddles of mercury on the field below.

As he passed, Prince Cassius tossed his head in a roguish fashion, sending his long dark tresses sweeping through the air.

Yuuri supposed that he was handsome enough – in an objective sort of way – though he did very much despise his fiancée’s thin moustache and pointy little beard.

Sir Christophe followed directly behind Prince Cassius, smiling congenially and blowing kisses to his fans. His heraldry was simple, but elegant; a large, blocky criss-cross of red and white. Presently, he wore a crown of red carnations in place of his helm.

Behind him was Sir J.J., flashing his signature hang gesture and yelling out to his supporters as he passed. His spritely dapple gray stallion looked very much the jester, sporting a caparison of emerald green and indigo blue diamonds.

Sir Leo was next, riding atop his sweet skewbald mare. He was nearly impossible to miss; drawing every eye in the stands with his bright heraldry of orange and yellow.

Behind him came Sir Michele – fierce and focused – cloaked in a shadow of violet heraldry; which suited his equally-serious bay stallion just fine.

The cheers grew louder as Lady Mila rode by next; she was _very_ popular with the people, and for good reason. She grinned at the audience, thrusting one fist high in victory; attached to her wrist was a bow of purple lace. Her sorrel mare very nearly skipped down the list, as if showing off her pink, white, and sky-blue striped caparison.

After Lady Mila came Sir Seung-Gil, sombre and stoic as always. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd at all, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he passed. His steed’s colourful caparison swept the field like the wings of a parrot.

“So, _Lord Phichit_ ,” Yuuri murmured, taking his own turn at being smug, “who’s bearing _your_ token today? Sir Christophe, or Sir Seung-Gil? Are they still fighting for your hand, or –?”

Phichit smirked, “why, I have no idea what you’re talking about, My Prince,” he replied innocently.

Yuuri cast him a very pointed look, “Hmm, is that so?”

“Oh look!” Phichit chirped, changing the subject, “There’s _your_ knight!”

The Prince jumped, looking for Viktor and falling directly into Phichit’s trap.

But really, The Prince could hardly be blamed for his enthusiasm . . .

For there, at the very end of the line, was Sir Viktor – _his_ Viktor – glimmering like a god in his gold-plated armor. The Knight was divinity incarnate, wreathed in his white and gold heraldry and looking for all the world like an angel sent to earth.

Yuuri had to take a moment to catch his breath.

Viktor smiled, big and wide, as if there was nowhere in the world he would rather be. Though Yuuri knew that was _hardly_ true, his Knight was gracious as always and indulged his fans as he passed; nodding to gentry and waving to children and winking at a gaggle of tittering nobles by the boards.

His silver tresses caught the light like silk; ethereal blue eyes glittered as they swept the stands.

For one brief, fleeting second, they met Yuuri’s.

And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

Beside him, Yuuri heard the Marquis snicker.

He tore his eyes away from Viktor, before anyone else caught him gawking.

The Prince took a deep breath and schooled his features, “Ha, ha, _very funny_ , Phichit,” he hissed.

The Marquis leaned back with an incredibly self-satisfied grin, “I certainly thought so,” he gloated.

Yuuri glared, but didn’t dare bait Phichit any further.

Soon the joust would begin; and though The Prince set his gaze on his betrothed – like a dutiful fiancée should – he only had eyes for Viktor.

 

*****

 

The day wore on, slow and agonizing as the knights indulged Prince Cassius in his make-believe joust.

Viktor scowled, watching the spoiled monarch ready himself for his next match.

Not that he needed to – watch, that is – Viktor already knew how it would end.

The tournament results were practically decided the moment the brackets were announced.

Poor Sir Leo had the misfortune of being drawn as the first to face Prince Cassius. The young Knight dutifully threw the match, taking every one of Prince Cassius’s blows, while landing none of his own. It seemed that Prince Cassius was no amateur; striking true every time, with three hits square to Sir Leo’s chest.

Needless to say, Prince Cassius won the match; despite the fact that he should have been disqualified for failing to present during all three passes. But through it all, Sir Leo retained his dignity and did not allow himself to be unseated; a very admirable feat, considering.

Now, a joust was no safe thing. Even under pristine conditions such as these, Viktor knew all too well that there was always a chance of incident – but for Prince Cassius to outright cheat in a _rigged_ tournament, he must be incredibly vain, incredibly malicious, or incredibly stupid.

Either that, or he didn’t trust his new allies to honor their word.

Of all possible reasons, that was the one which one incensed Viktor the most; a common thug like Prince Cassius, questioning _their_ integrity? It was a notion too infuriating to entertain.

At least the _real_ matches had given Viktor a chance to blow off some steam.

In the first round, he easily triumphed over Michele, while J.J. and Mila had won-out against Seung-Gil and Christophe respectively.

Both of Lord Chulanont’s suitors _insisted_ they’d lost due to chivalry, rather than skill. Seung-Gil claimed that he was _hoping_ to be eliminated, as there was no honor in competing in a sham tournament such as this one; while Christophe argued that he _only_ wanted to tilt against his rival, Seung-Gil – and failing the opportunity to do so, felt it only fair to secede and allow Mila to ride for Lady Crispino in the second round.

Of course, Mila was none too pleased with his _particular_ account of events; and had given Chris more than enough bruises to show for it.

In the second round, Viktor had faced J.J.; and while he was a much more _aggressive_ competitor than Michele, Viktor still rode away victorious.

Now, Mila was about to face Prince Cassius, to ‘determine’ who would go up against Viktor in the final match.

The Knight felt a pang of sympathy for her; Mila was one of the best. She was small, but she was feisty and she was skilled. It was a shame she would be forced to forfeit the match.

Bile rose in Viktor’s throat, knowing he would have to lose his own.

The starting flag swept through the air; a maelstrom of hooves thundered in the distance.

Viktor scowled, eyes pinned to the blue token fluttering against Cassius’s chest.

“HEY, _ASSHOLE_!”

Viktor nearly jumped out of his soft kit.

Once his heart slowed down, he turned to his cousin with a sigh, “You know, _most_ squires address their knights more _respectfully_ than that,”

The blonde fifteen-year-old sneered back at him, “Most knights aren’t _assholes_ ,” he huffed.

Viktor closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he supposed he should have seen that one coming.

“What do you want, Yurio?”

“DON’T CALL ME –!”

‘ _KA-CRUNCH, THUD, THWAP_ ’!

The Knight and The Squire both snapped to attention, just in time to see a hail of splitters explode in the center of the tilt.

Both competitors had struck; but while Mila easily shook off the blow, Cassius looked a bit worse for wear.

“ _Idiot_ ,” Yurio hissed, “what the _hell_ does she think she’s doing?”

Prince Cassius’ attendants raced to his side; helping him off his steed and plying him with aid. The spoiled monarch limped about pathetically; milking the crowd’s sympathies for all they were worth.

The Knight Marshal, Yakov, called for an intermission; storming over to Mila. They hissed at one another in the kerfuffle that followed. Mila’s face was scrunched in indignation, but Viktor couldn’t make out the words.

Up in the royal box, the Queen surreptitiously nudged at Yuuri’s side.

Begrudgingly, the Prince rose and made his way to the rail; ostensibly out of concern for his fiancée.

Viktor scowled; what a load of _bullsh_ –

“Viktor? VIKTOR! _ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME_?”

The Knight’s eyes flicked back to Yuri, “Um. Yes. Whatever you were saying. Absolutely,”

The Squire rolled his eyes, “fine. I’ll leave it up to Beka then, since you _obviously_ don’t care,” he huffed.

Viktor felt a bit guilty at that; but Yuri was right – he really, _really_ didn’t.

His eyes trailed back up to the royal box.

A slap to the bicep returned his attention to Yuri, “ _quit staring already_ ,” the squire hissed, “You look like a pervert,”

Viktor began to object, but his cousin kept on, “Seriously, are you _trying_ to get caught?”

With a very pointed look, Yuri turned on his heel and stormed off.

Viktor’s heart plummeted.

Yuri was right; he was being foolish . . . terribly foolish indeed.

Viktor loved The Prince with all his heart . . . but _Yuuri wasn’t his_ ; not _really_.

And he never would be.

Better to surrender with grace and cherish what had been, instead of losing what little he had left, fighting for an impossible dream.

A sudden cheer rose from the crowd; unsurprisingly, Prince Cassius was perfectly fine.

That still didn’t stop the royal brat from strutting about a moment or two longer; blowing kisses to Yuuri and drinking in the adoration of the peasantry before returning to the competition.

Eventually, the jousters were in position once more; ready for another pass.

Yakov cast one last furious glance at Mila, before returning to the marshal’s stand.

The starting flag swept through the air and the horses took off; black stallion vs. sorrel mare.

Viktor watched with a keen eye, half-hoping that Mila would peg Cassius again out of sheer spite. But, watching her rigid, hesitant levée, Viktor knew that he would be disappointed.

He braced himself for impact.

‘ _KA-CRUNCH . . . thud_ ’

A ferrule strike; and a vicious one at that.

Mila had opened her ecranche directly to Prince Cassius’ lance, slid her feet from the stirrups, and allowed herself to be unseated in a hail of thorns.

She landed on her back with a ‘thud’; polished armor sinking into the soft silt beneath.

Prince Cassius charged forth, free and clear. Mila’s own lance had missed the mark entirely; undoubtedly on purpose.

The crowd roared with glee. The runners – two boys, called Minami and Guang Hong – scampered out onto the list to clear away the debris, while Horse Master Nishigori and his daughters wrangled Mila’s sorrel mare. Yakov clomped over to her, murmured something unintelligible, and yanked Mila to her feet. She swayed for a moment, before staggering off the field.

Viktor intercepted her with harried steps; his eyes drawn immediately to the distinct, ring-shaped scuff in her ecranche.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he demanded, falling into step beside her. She was headed for the medical tent, “can I do anything?”

“Fine,” she wheezed, “just fine,”

Viktor bit his lip; the fall had been tough, but Mila was tougher. If she said she was fine, then she was fine.

“ _What was that all about_?” he hissed, “What did Yakov say to you?”

Mila suddenly halted; grunting as she leaned forward, trying to catch her breath.

“Didn’t like . . . my little love-tap,” she quipped, “had to fall _hard_ . . . in second pass . . . to appease them”. She turned to him with dizzy, rueful eyes, “just wanted to . . . build suspense . . . more realistic,”

Viktor suddenly felt like he was sinking.

He began to offer his sympathies, but the next instant, Emil the Apothecary was at Mila’s side, ushering her into the medical tent. A tidal wave of concerned onlookers followed; including Lady Crispino, Lord Popavich, Mila’s Squire, and a dozen other well-wishers.

Viktor slowly turned away. There was nothing he could do for her now.

Venom crept up his throat. He clomped back to camp and began to strap his armour back on with extreme prejudice; hoping that Mila would face no further retribution.

“Sir Viktor,”

A flat voice pulled The Knight back to reality.

He spun on his heel, nearly clobbering Master Otabek, the armourer.

The smith said nothing more, just held forth a decorated lance for Viktor’s inspection. It was one of The Knight’s own custom-painted ones; white and gold to match his heraldry. Like his others, it was adorned with a golden grapper, vamplate and coronel – all constructed of steel and merely gilded for show, like his armour.

It was a fine lance . . . but there was something strange about it. Upon further inspection, Viktor discovered that Otabek hadn’t brought him his usual shaped-frangible, but an old shaped-solid instead.

The knight raised an eyebrow in question.

“Yura said you didn’t care,” Otabek shrugged, “I may still have time to put a new tip on your frangible if you’d like, but –,”

“It’s fine. Thanks,” Viktor murmured, taking the substitute lance and testing its weight, “You sure you want to give me a _solid_ though? Seems a waste. You’ll just have to build a whole new one to replace this,”

Okabek raised an eyebrow, “doubtful,” he drawled, “Since you won’t be hitting anything with it,”

The words stung like a volley of arrows; Viktor’s sinking feeling became suffocating.

“Last chance on the frangible,” Otabek offered knowingly.

Viktor shook his head.

“No . . . better not,” he surrendered, “this will be a good . . . _reminder_ ,”

“As you say,” Otabek replied. Taking the lance back, he sauntered off toward the weapons rack, where it would be set aside for the first pass.

With a grimace, Viktor continued to prepare for the final match.

A cheer swept over the tilt yard. Over by the stands, Prince Cassius was _still_ parading up and down the list, celebrating his ‘victory’ over Mila.

And all the while, Yuuri’s token fluttered on his chest.

Viktor frowned; His Prince looked utterly miserable, standing at the rail of the royal box and sporting a smile so fake, it nearly broke the knight’s heart.

What he wouldn’t give for the power to set Yuuri free.

The hero in him demanded victory; demanded justice for Yuuri and Mila and all his fellow knights.

But the romantic in him demanded obeisance.

Infuriating as it all was, he knew this was neither the time nor place to take a stand.

Causing a scene would only anger Prince Cassius, which would only make things worse for everyone; the best thing Viktor could do right now – for his lover, his friends, and himself – was play their little game; smile and put on a good show, just as Prince Cassius wanted.

And tonight . . .

Tonight, Viktor would sneak into Yuuri’s chambers as he did every night, sweep his beloved off his feet and shower him with kisses. There, they would comfort each other and whisper sweet nothings and get lost in one another’s eyes; indulging their passion as if the dawn would never come.

‘ _Whump!_ ’

' _Whump, whump, whump_ ,'

Viktor grunted, taking a series of kicks to the back. It might have hurt, if not for the padding of his soft kit.

“Hey, _ASSHOLE_! _What did I tell you about staring_?”

Yuri glared at Viktor impatiently; beside him, Viktor’s white mare snorted and shook out her mane.

The Knight turned to his Squire, wordlessly taking her reins.

Yuri helped Viktor strap on the rest of his armor in silence. Once he was ready, they made their way over to the east side of the list; greeted by a swell of applause and a smattering of jeers.

Viktor swung up into the saddle, as Yuri retrieved the solid lance.

He passed it up to Viktor with a grave and solemn expression.

“Don’t do anything stupid like Mila . . . alright?” Yuri warned; his voice hard and wary.

Viktor took a deep breath and nodded; flicking his visor down.

Time to put on a show.

 

*****

 

Up in the royal box, Yuuri could hardly watch.

At either end of the list, Viktor and Cassius were setting up for the final match.

An army of spiders crawled along Yuuri’s ribs, but he didn’t bother to hide his nerves; anyone who noticed would simply assume his concern was for Cassius.

He watched intently, as Viktor took up his lance; face obscured by his golden helm.

The Prince’s heart ached for his knight.

“Please, Viktor . . . don’t do anything stupid,” he murmured under his breath.

With a pang of fear, he recalled his Knight’s vow.

“ _I’ll win the whole tournament. For you, my love_ ,”

The declaration made Yuuri’s heart soar, even now; not the terms of it, but the intention of it – the pride and the devotion and the promise of forever. Under different circumstances, Yuuri would have gladly welcomed such an oath, but with things the way they were, those words were as much an epitaph as they were a declaration.

He’d felt awful, reminding Viktor to lose this morning; but things were better this way, _safer_ this way. They were already playing with fire as it was; if they were discovered, this affair could destroy them both.

As Prince, Yuuri had enough wealth and power and privilege to survive the scandal, however narrowly . . . but _Viktor_?

Viktor, who was only a knight? Viktor, who hadn’t any land of his own? Viktor, who’d forsaken all earthly possessions the day he’d sworn fealty to The King?

He wouldn’t be so lucky.

Viktor could incur any number of terrible punishments; he might be dismissed, or stripped of his kinghood, or banished . . . or _worse_.

And in the end, whatever unspeakable fate befell him, it would be all Yuuri’s fault.

He turned away slowly, sweeping back over to his seat of honour.

Viktor didn’t worry about such things of course; his was a world of sonnets and roses, where nothing bad ever happened and true love always prevailed.

How Yuuri envied him that. From the cloak across his shoulders to the throne on which he sat, The Prince didn’t have the luxury of forgetting his own reality.

Now, he could only hope his lover’s chivalry wouldn’t be his undoing.

Surely Viktor knew by now, that he had nothing to prove? That Yuuri’s heart was already won? That Yuuri belonged to him – and him alone – regardless of politics or rivalries or tokens?

Surely, Viktor knew he was the only man Yuuri would ever love?

A gentle hand squeezed his own; Phichit said nothing, but looked to him with sympathetic eyes. Yuuri forced a little smile and squeezed right back.

The Prince took a deep breath, reminding himself that Viktor had agreed – nay, _promised_ – to throw the match against Cassius.

But the knowledge brought him little comfort, as the love of his life proudly took his place in the list.

 

*****

 

The world was a furnace inside Viktor’s decorated helm; he squinted across the field, sweltering in his steel cage.

He grew impatient, waiting for Prince Cassius to ready himself. The sound of his own heavy breathing nearly drove him mad.

He was really going to do this.

He was really going to submit.

He was really going to appease the whims of an arrogant, spoiled brat; the man who’d injured his friends and taken Viktor’s beloved for his own.

The Knight flicked his visor up with a sigh of relief; fleeing the echo-chamber of his melancholy mind.

His eyes strayed, as they always did, to his Prince.

Yuuri wasn’t even trying to hide his nerves any longer; Lord Chulanont was clasping his hand.

Viktor’s heart sank.

Right.

This wasn’t about his pride. This wasn’t about Prince Cassius.

This was about Yuuri.

It was about keeping the peace.

It was about keeping Yuuri safe.

It was about keeping his promise.

Everyone knew this joust was a sham . . . so, Viktor would just have to give them the best damn sham they’d ever seen.

With one last deep breath, Viktor flicked his visor back down and readied himself at the end of the list.

Prince Cassius finally greeted him.

The Knight steeled his resolve; lance poised and ready to begin.

The starting flag swept through the air.

The world roared all around as Viktor’s mare jolted into a canter; earth and sky blurring together, until all that remained was a periwinkle kerchief.

Prince Cassius drew closer with every passing second.

Slowly, Viktor lowered his lance; carefully aiming straight ahead, so as not to cross the center tilt. There it stayed; poised above his mare’s bobbing head, resting squarely between her ears. There was no possible way he could hit Prince Cassius.

Viktor held firm and charged ever onward.

Prince Cassius, however, seemed to be having some difficulty with his levée.

The royal lance hitched. It wobbled. It leaned.

At length, it leaned across the center tilt; finally poised to strike.

It would be a good hit; not an impressive one, but a good one nonetheless.

And then . . .

Prince Cassius’ lance _kept_ leaning; swinging wider and wider with every passing millisecond, until –

‘ _BOOM CRUNCH THWAP ting ting_ ’.

‘ _OOF . . . augh . . . hrrg . . ._ ’

Viktor’s stomach jumped right up into his throat.

Prince Cassius’s lance had struck him; not with the _tip_ , but with the _length_ – breaking almost exactly in half as it collided with Viktor’s abdomen, like dry kindling snapped over a knee.

The force of the blow winded him; his innards liquefied.

Viktor gasped for breath, coughing and hacking and coating the inside of his helm with spittle. He flicked up his visor and keeled forward in the saddle as his mare continued down the list at a walk.

He was vaguely aware of the cheers; people screaming and shouting and applauding and booing all around him. But Viktor couldn’t be bothered with them, considering he could still hardly breathe.

Shit.

 _SHIT_.

Viktor scrabbled at the clasps of his helm; nausea rising like the tide and threatening to pull him overboard.

He couldn’t breathe; couldn’t think, couldn’t –

The world went white; Viktor slid sideways off his steed.

‘ _Clank-Thud_ ’

A horrified gasp rose from the spectators.

Viktor gulped for breath; useless fingers tugging weakly at buckled straps as he fought to stay conscious. His lungs burned. He could feel himself about to be sick.

Oh Mercy, he was going to die here; disgraced in front of everyone – in front of _Yuuri_. He was going to convulse and then he was going to vomit, and then he was going to choke on his vomit and die.

Scampering footsteps signalled the arrival of his saviour.

“VIKTOR? _Shit_ –!”

A gentle kick rolled him from his side to his stomach; which in turn forced his cheek against the hot, sticky insides of his helm.

Seconds later, the helm was falling open; unceremoniously yanked away by impatient fingers.

Viktor’s cheek fell directly into the dirt beneath; he was still suffocating, but at least the cool earth was soothing against his sweaty brow.

“ _Shit_ –!”

Those same furious fingers turned once again to his armour; scrabbling at his gorget, his pauldrons, his breastplate – until every bit of gold had been torn away.

Viktor swallowed a desperate lung-full of burning air.

The nausea intensified, but at least he could breathe now.

Slowly and shakily, Viktor pushed himself onto hands and knees.

“Viktor? VIKTOR! _SAY SOMETHING, YOU ASS_ –!”

‘ _BLURG-BLEEEEEGH, gargl-blegh-bleeeegh ack, ack, ack, wheeze_ . . . _ack_!’

Viktor coughed and hacked, choking on his own humiliation as he retched into the dirt below.

“Oh _GROSS_!” Yuri cried, jumping away, “ _sick_! You’d better not have gotten any of that on _me_ , Old Man!”

Viktor panted, pinned in place by failure.

“Th-thanks . . . Yurio,” he wheezed, “nice to know . . . you care . . . so much . . .”

Viktor’s quip missed the mark entirely. He spat into the dirt, trying to rinse the taste of bile from between his teeth.

Yuri growled, but his shoulders slumped in relief, “I got your armor off, didn’t I?”

“Please . . . tell me Prince Yu- . . . Yuuri . . . _didn’t_ see that,” Viktor beseeched; wincing at his own childishness.

Yuri groaned, “ _you’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ –”

“Vitya!”

Great. Now what?

“Vitya! Are you alright?” Yakov clomped over, sliding to a stop upon spying Viktor’s blooming puddle of puke.

“Fine,” The Knight groaned, attempting to stand, “I’m fine –”

“ _WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT_?” Yuri spat fire, viciously rounding on the Knight Marshal, “You’d better be here to tell us Prince Cassius was _disqualified_ for that little stunt of his! Failing to present is one thing, but a _BARRICADE_? _Those are BANNED for a REASON_! Prince or not, _anyone_ who pulls shit like that should get their ass kicked straight into the dungeon!”

Viktor would have been touched, if he’d thought for even a second that Yuri’s vitriol was out of concern for him. But his cousin just had a surprisingly rigid moral compass and unshakeable sense of fair play; qualities which actually made Viktor proud to call him ‘Squire’.

However, crass as Yuri was acting, Viktor found he had to agree; rising painfully up on his knees and thanking his lucky stars he could still hold himself upright after a hit like that.

“Hush, Yuri,” Yakov chided, “we have to let this one –”

“This is _BULLSHIT_!” The Squire snapped.

“Yuri,” Viktor entreated, dizzy and swaying, “Water. Please?”

The Squire’s glare was ice-cold, “Fine,” he huffed, “you two want to let Prince Cassius use our knights for _target practice_? Be my fucking guests,”

With a huff, Yuri stormed away; heading straight for Master Otabek at the weapon’s rack to vent.

Viktor sighed; typical.

He’d be waiting on that water a while; but hopefully the armourer would talk Yuri down a bit.

Yakov frowned, “do you feel you can . . . continue?” he asked, returning to the matter at hand, “Prince Cassius insisted on another pass . . . but you’re well within your rights to forfeit. Save yourself the bruises,”

Viktor shook his head and slowly rose to his feet; he never had been a quitter.

His stomach roiled again, but he choked the bile back down. His ribs were on fire. He’d only been in this much pain once before, and even then, he hadn’t retched.

But he couldn’t yield . . . not now; not after only one pass.

He couldn’t let Prince Cassius see how badly he’d been injured; couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Barricade or no, Viktor hadn’t _technically_ been unseated; even cheating, Prince Cassius wasn’t half the jouster he was.

The Knight knew he wouldn’t walk away victorious; but he could at least lose on his own terms – gracious and dignified, instead of face-down in a puddle of his own puke.

He still had a chance; he still had his pride.

And besides . . . someone had to teach Prince Cassius the meaning of _honour_.

“I’ll do it,” Viktor agreed through gritted teeth, “one more pass, at least,”

As he spoke, his abdominals constricted painfully.

At least he had an excuse to explain away his poor performance in the final passes.

Yakov nodded; something like pride lurking beneath his rough exterior.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to sort yourself,” he offered, before heading back to the Marshal’s stand to make the announcement.

Viktor nodded and turned his back to the crowd, pretending to look for his steed. He knew that Horse Master Nishigori and his daughters would have her well in hand by now, but –

But, for the first time that day, Viktor couldn’t bring himself to look up at the royal box; dreading what he might see there.

“Your Royal Majesties,” Yakov began, his voice echoing over the tilt yard, “Lords and Ladies, peasants and gentry . . . I am pleased to announce that the joust is _not_ over!”

A thunderous cheer rose from the stands.

Yakov continued, “Sir Viktor has agreed to resume the match! We will continue after a very _brief_ intermission, to –!”

“ _NO_!”

The List Field fell silent.

Viktor’s heart stuttered to a stop.

 _Yuuri_?

Viktor turned around slowly, forcing his eyes upward.

Yuuri was at the rail of the royal box, gripping it tight; white knuckles screaming on trembling hands.

Viktor’s eyes went wide.

Oh no.

“I-I believe we’ve seen q-quite _enough_!” The Prince proclaimed, “This tournament is _over_!”

Murmurs of confusion and disappointment began to roll through the crowd. In an instant, Lord Chulanont was at Yuuri’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

The sinking feeling was back now, pulling Viktor’s head below the waves.

What was Yuuri _doing_?

This was madness!

Calling an end to the joust, when Viktor had _consented_ to another pass?

Why would Yuuri risk his fiancée’s wrath like that?

And after he’d made Viktor _promise_ to –?

Clearly, the Prince was _worried_ . . . but was he afraid that Viktor might get hurt – or that he might _retaliate_?

Viktor slumped, feeling the weight of his failure acutely.

He was Yuuri’s personal guard – his lover, his _knight_ – _he_ was supposed to protect _Yuuri_ . . . not the other way around!

He wished the waves would drown him.

With a thundering of hooves, Prince Cassius cantered up to the royal box.

“But . . . but _dearest_ ,” he drawled, infuriatingly petulant, “surely a _forfeit_ is no true way for me to prove my love! Would you pluck the petals off a rose? Silence a sonnet before the final verse?”

He pouted up at Yuuri.

In response, The Prince was all steel.

“Sir Viktor is in _no fit state_ to –”

“A thousand apologies your highnesses but, if I may . . ?” Lord Chulanont interrupted graciously.

Butterflies erupted in Viktor’s aching stomach.

He didn’t know much about Lord Chulanont – other than that he was Yuuri’s closest companion, had two _very_ honourable knights vying for his hand . . . and possessed a devastating wit, with a keen silver tongue to match.

Viktor very nearly breathed a sigh of relief; if _anyone_ could salvage this situation . . .

“My Good Prince Cassius,” Lord Chulanont continued, all silk and airs, “we have _all_ been . . . _utterly_ _enraptured_ by your show of skill this day. I’m certain I speak for everyone here, when I say that nothing in this world would give us greater pleasure than to see the joust continue. _However_ , should it please Your Highness, I believe Prince Katsuki is wise to issue a halt . . .”

Viktor’s heart hammered against his ribcage; for the second time that day, his breath was taken away.

“You see, My Prince,” Lord Chulanont beseeched, “Sir Viktor is Prince Katsuki’s _personal guard_. Having him risk greater injury in the name of sport _could_ be seen as . . . _impractical_. Surely you wouldn’t want to leave your betrothed unprotected, in the event you render Sir Viktor incapacitated?”

An agreeable chatter rolled through the stands; Yuuri looked to Lord Chulanont with gratitude.

Viktor let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“To appease all parties, might I suggest a substitute?” Lord Chulanont chirped, turning once more to Prince Cassius, “One of the knights who have not yet had the honour of facing you, your Highness – Sir J.J. would be more than amenable, I’m certain, having made it to the second bracket himself . . . or perchance I could beg a favour of Sir Christophe, or Sir Seung-Gil –”

Prince Cassius contemplated a moment, then lifted his chin and shook out his lush mane, “Your proposal is well-reasoned, Lord Chulanont . . . but I’ll accept no stand-ins!”

The crowd gasped; Yuuri looked like his heart was breaking.

“Sir Viktor has proven to be the most skillful of your knights, and I desire to tilt against an opponent worthy of my talents!”

As the spectators tittered with scandal, Prince Cassius turned his sharp gaze on Viktor.

“Hmm . . . I daresay, this makes things rather more _interesting_ ,” he opined, “Yes. I shall face Sir Viktor, and we shall _all_ see if his position of honour is truly _deserved_ . . . after all, there is no task of greater importance than safeguarding my _darling fiancée_!”

Roars of approval clashed with cries of contention; guards and ground crew alike tried to settle the crowd in vain, helpless to restore order.

“ _Should_ Sir Viktor prevail . . . well then, _bravo_ for him,” Cassius smirked, silencing the crowd with his edict, “I’m certain we can devise a suitable reward for him, in that _unlikely_ event. Should he _fail_ , however . . . well, I shall leave his fate to your most _gracious_ King and Queen. Though, for my part, I would advise _against_ retaining a knight displaying any such . . . _obvious deficiencies_ ”

Cassius cleared his throat, looking back to the royal box with a grin, “Furthermore; should any additional _misfortunes_ befall Sir Viktor in the course of our sport, it would be my honour to take the _radiant_ Prince Yuuri under _my own_ protection in his stead!”

A great calamitous cry rose up from the stands.

Viktor’s heart leapt into this throat.

“The terms of my challenge are thus. What say you, Sir Viktor?” Prince Cassius called, “Will you accept this most _gracious_ opportunity to redeem yourself? Come forth with your answer!”

As if pulled by puppet strings, Viktor shambled down the list.

Rows and rows of eyes followed him; mocking him, judging him, smirking in anticipation.

But the only eyes he cared about were Yuuri’s.

Viktor’s gaze flickered up to his Prince.

Poor Yuuri was deathly pale; hands shaking, eyes wide and pleading – begging Viktor to refuse . . . begging him to walk away.

But that was the one thing Viktor couldn’t do.

All he’d ever wanted was to be by Yuuri’s side; to hold him and make him smile and kiss all his worries away.

To declare his love for all to hear and wear his Prince’s token with pride.

To call him ‘fiancée’.

But to these people, Viktor was not Yuuri’s beloved – not even his equal. He had no lands or riches, he could claim no peerage; unworthy to even kiss the ground at Yuuri’s feet.

Out here, beyond the safety of Yuuri’s chamber walls, in the harsh light of day, Viktor was nothing but a lap-dog; a dummy, a toy, a prop for their sick little games.

Well, no more.

A breeze ruffled Viktor’s muddy hair; the blue handkerchief on Cassius’ chest trembled like a songbird in a cage.

Viktor came to a halt in front of the black stallion.

“Well, what say you?” Prince Cassius demanded, “Do you accept my challenge, or no?”

Viktor took a deep breath, willing his voice not to waver.

“You shall have your match, My Prince,” Victor declared, “It would, of course, be my honour,”

The crowd cheered; Viktor felt his knees wobble beneath him as he bowed.

Up in the royal box, Yuuri slumped against Lord Chulanont, who was quickly ushering him back to his seat; strategically shielding Yuuri’s face with his own body.

“Well, well, well . . . seems there’s some _spirit_ in you yet,” Cassius murmured, so quietly only the two of them could hear.

Viktor said nothing, but graciously nodded and began his retreat.

Now, Yakov was back on the marshal’s stand, re-iterating the terms of the challenge. All around, the ground crew scrambled to ready the tilt.

Viktor hid a scowl as he searched for his Squire; his mouth still tasting of putrescence.

“A moment more, Sir Viktor!” Prince Cassius called, loud enough for his voice to carry, “Allow me to wish you luck, _properly_. . . one _champion_ to another,”

Viktor turned back; muscles tense, eyes hard and suspicious.

Cassius slid from his steed and sauntered over, accompanied by a chorus of approval from the crowd.

Prince Cassius smirked, clasping Viktor’s hand in his own.

“Well met, Sir Viktor,” he praised, hollering above the din, “You truly are a worthy opponent . . .”

Suddenly, he yanked the knight in closer; hissing in his ear.

It was just the two of them now, stranded out in the middle of the list; hidden amongst the commotion.

“I do hope there are no _hard feelings_ ,” Prince Cassius growled, shifting from congenial to cold in the span of a second, “Despite our little wager, I _don’t_ intend to lose . . . and I would hate for you to entertain any _ideas_ ,”

“Of course not, your Highness,” Viktor lied, tasting poison on his tongue, “I’m not retained for my _whimsy_ , I assure you,”

“Good man,” Prince Cassius purred, finally releasing Viktor’s arm, “Unfortunate bit of business there, I’m afraid, but I’m certain you’ll survive. It was nothing _personal_ , you understand . . . but I couldn’t allow my _dearest treasure_ to ruin the  _fun_ , now could I?”

Viktor seethed; there were no words to describe the depths of Prince Cassius’ conceit.

The monarch rambled on, “Surely _you_ of all people know how willful my _delicate flower_ can be,”

Something sharp settled in Viktor’s heart, “I . . . I’m afraid I don’t follow, your Highness,” he challenged.

“Oh please,” Cassius scoffed, his voice low and conspiratorial, “You know as well as I, the boy is . . . _fragile_. I mean, you’ve served my _precious love_ for how long now? Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed. Why, his heart shatters so easily, I swear it must be made of _glass_. I admit, his tenderness is quaint – _endearing_ even – but it’s a smidge unseemly for a Prince to show such _weakness_ ,”

Viktor nearly snapped Prince Cassius’ neck right then and there.

“Not that I would _dare_ speak ill of my _doting husband-to-be_ . . .” Cassius reiterated dryly, “But that’s just how he is; my _docile dove_ , my _sweet little lamb_ . . . my _flimsy dead fish_. Thank mercy he has such a pretty face, to make up for his more _disappointing_ features,”

Viktor bit his tongue so hard he forgot how to speak. There was barely enough room in his tense, broken body to contain all the righteous fury burning inside him.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to win,” Prince Cassius taunted, “Do try and keep your bile on the _inside_ this time, won’t you, Sir Viktor?”

With a toss of his luscious locks, Prince Cassius strutted away.

A thousand fuses ignited in Viktor’s soul; paralyzing him with white-hot rage as they slowly burned down to the powder keg of his ego.

“ _HOLY SHIT_ ”

Viktor whirled around, coming face to face with his squire.

“ _WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT_?”

Yuri gaped at Viktor, holding a flagon of water in one hand, and the white mare’s reins in the other. The squire was flanked by Master Otabek, who held aloft Viktor’s shaped-frangible; equipped with a brand new tip and gold-plated coronel.

Apparently, they’d overheard everything.

Viktor snatched up the water and chugged; dousing the flames of his fury and washing away the taste of his shame.

He shoved the flagon back into Yuri’s startled hand.

“Hey . . . Viktor,”

“. . . _what_?”

Yuri’s green eyes flashed with determination.

“ _Kick his ass_ ,”

Otabek cleared his throat and held forth the lance.

“I believe you’ll be needing _this_ ,”

Viktor nodded.

Wordlessly, the three began to collect the scattered pieces of Viktor’s garniture, and strapped them back on.

In almost no time at all, Sir Viktor and Prince Cassius were ready for the second pass.

Viktor’s vengeful gaze bore holes in his rival’s armour.

The starting flag swept through the air.

Viktor urged his steed forward; spurred on by white-hot hatred, the likes of which he’d never known before.

Prince Cassius grew closer with every passing second; like a dark shadow swallowing the list.

Viktor poised to strike; this time aiming straight for the heart.

‘ _CLANG KA-CRUNCH KREE-CRACK-a-SANP THWAP_ ’

Both riders struck, straight and true.

‘ _Ting-a-ting-ting, ping_!’

Splinters rained down like confetti.

Viktor huffed; Cassius had hit, but the force was nothing – a paper ribbon which the Knight easily tore though. His mare did not even break her stride.

Prince Cassius, however, was decidedly less sturdy in his saddle.

The force of Viktor’s strike had bowled him back; laid out over the ass-end of his horse, flailing against his steed as the black stallion raced on.

But, by the end of the list, he’d pulled himself upright.

Viktor nearly swore; his hit had been good, but Prince Cassius hadn’t been unseated.

Ugh! He was _better_ than this, damn it!

He had to hit _harder_ ; he had to be _stronger_. . .

He had to win – _for Yuuri_!

For _love_!

Viktor’s heavy breaths reverberated inside his helm; he furiously yanked it off.

He was greeted by silence.

Well, near silence.

A few onlookers gasped; scandalized whispers filled the air. Here and there, a couple solitary accolades were drizzled on top; polite applause and vindicated roars and wolf whistles from his friends and fans and fellow knights.

But it was nothing like the triumphant reception he usually received.

His heart twisted unpleasantly between his ribs.

“Lance! Now!” Viktor fumed, wincing as his gut reminded him of his earlier injury.

Yuri and Otabek scrambled to his side, exchanging his broken lance tip for a new one.

“Holy _shit_!” Yuri cheered, “You hit him! You _actually_ hit him! I can’t believe you _actually_ –”

“VITYA! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE –”

“Sir Viktor! Sir Viktor! That was –”

“Now this time, _unseat the bastard_! Really _give it_ to him –!”

In an instant, Viktor was swarmed by a dozen people – well-wishers and crew alike – but he wasn’t listening; the blistering anger of his sullied pride focused entirely on Prince Cassius.

His rival’s ground crew was attending him, but this time, Prince Cassius didn’t play for sympathy; not like after Mila’s hit.

No, Cassius was just as furious as Viktor now. The Knight could see his glower from clear across the field, as the spoiled brat realized that Viktor gotten the best of him.

Adrenaline rode roughshod through Viktor’s veins as he pictured the ‘noble’ Prince Cassius belly-up in the mud; choking down a huge dose of his own medicine.

Viktor very nearly smiled.

True, his actions may have been . . . _unwise_ , given the circumstances; but they were not the least bit unwarranted.

After all, Viktor was a knight; a hero, a champion, a _defender_. He was standing up for truth and righteousness; avenging his home, his people and his beloved.

Sure, he may get a slap on the wrist; but right here and now, any price was worth it to crush Prince Cassius into the dirt where he belonged.

Viktor’s gaze was impenetrable; electrified and unwavering.

Prince Cassius was barking at his attendants as they scampered around his horse’s hooves.

The breeze caught Yuuri’s token, whipping it into Cassius’ face. He batted it away like a personal affront; yanking and twisting it out of the way until it could barely be seen.

Viktor growled. _That bastard; how dare he treat Yuuri so shamefully_!

He was going to –

Viktor looked to the royal box –

– and very nearly choked.

There at the rail was Yuuri – but he was not looking at Prince Cassius; not even pretending to.

No, those beautiful brown eyes were trained directly on Viktor . . . but instead of his beloved Prince, the knight saw only a stranger.

Yuuri’s face was distorted by an unfamiliar expression; something twisted and reproachful and . . . _wrong_. Something so poisonous – so _vile_ – it hardly looked like his lover at all. An emotion so grim, it mocked his lovely features – a ghastly thing, suspended somewhere between wrath and sorrow.

Betrayal.

Viktor looked away defensively; sitting tall and proud on his mare.

Well, what had Yuuri _expected_?

This wasn’t _Viktor’s_ fault! If Cassius hadn’t been such a  _bastard_ –

And anyway, Viktor’s very job was on the line now! He wasn’t about to let himself be ousted by a–

Honestly – what did Yuuri _want_ from him? Did he _want_ to see Viktor dismissed? _Want_ to be deprived of the only thing still keeping them together?

Did he _want_ to see Viktor _humiliated_?

See him _disgraced_?

See him _hurt_?

See him _lose_ –?

The world stopped spinning; Yuuri’s chill gaze freezing the frenzied fire within.

. . . of course.

Viktor sighed, dousing his spirit in shame.

Of course Yuuri wanted him to lose . . . he wanted Viktor to _keep his promise_.

The Knight suddenly felt sick; his heart hurting worse than his pulverized gut.

He forced his eyes back to his Prince; but Yuuri’s expression hadn’t changed.

This time Viktor didn’t yield.

So much had happened since he’d made that promise earlier this morning; surely things were _different_ now?

The rules of the game had _changed_ . . . hadn’t they?

Viktor thought of Prince Cassius; his cheating and his challenge and his insults – thought of Mila, thought of Yuuri . . . thought of everything that he himself stood to lose.

He . . . he _had to_ win now; he _had to_ stand up to Prince Cassius.

He was breaking his promise, sure . . . but it was for the greater good!

Wasn’t it?

Just behind Yuuri, the King and Queen were exchanging hard looks of their own. Even Lord Chulanont – _the human embodiment of savoir faire_ – was becoming agitated.

At Viktor’s feet, the clamour was almost deafening. Yuri whooped, Otabek smirked and Yakov roared; in the stands, Chris and the other remaining Knights whispered conspiratorially – a mixed bag of pride and condemnation.

And at the other end of the list, Prince Cassius was ready for the final tilt.

Viktor slapped down his visor, brushing past his ground crew to take his place for the final pass.

His helmet was stifling, his armour too tight, the lance heavy and awkward in his grip as he made the long trudge to the tilt.

Silence fell over the lists; every breath held, waiting to see what Sir Viktor would do.

But now . . . he wasn’t entirely certain himself.

There was no winning here, no matter what he did. He knew that now.

No victory, no redemption, no escape . . . only damage control.

Viktor could easily defeat Prince Cassius; that much was obvious.

If he did, he would avenge his loved ones, prove his skill, keep his position, and _possibly_ even receive the vague ‘reward’ that Prince Cassius had tried to bait him with, earlier.

But then, there would be consequences; and not just for Viktor.

Yuuri would have to placate a furious Prince Cassius; bowing and scraping and endlessly prostrating himself for his fiancée’s forgiveness. The King and Queen may have to re-negotiate terms of the alliance after such an insult; to their own detriment, of course. Viktor would face some sort of punishment, certainly; and though it may be more discrete, he had no doubt that Prince Cassius would assure it was devastating nonetheless.

Worst of all, he would be breaking his promise . . . and breaking Yuuri’s heart in the process.

His Prince might never forgive him for that.

But . . . if Viktor _lost_ . . .

He would be disgraced; humiliated. He would be abandoning his code of chivalry; turning his back on everything right and fair, everything he’d ever believed in, everything worth fighting for. He would be decried as a failure and seen as unworthy of his position. He might be stripped of his status, his knighthood, even his appointment as Yuuri’s personal guard.

But . . . somehow . . .

Thinking of his lover’s tortured face – the frost in his frown and the pain in his eyes – none of that seemed to matter.

He came to a halt at the starting line and readied his lance.

Cassius did the same.

Despite the outrage bubbling through Viktor’s veins, all he could think about was Yuuri.

About how Yuuri would still be there.

How Yuuri would still love him.

How Yuuri would understand.

How Yuuri would hold him close and vow to make things right again.

How Yuuri would run his fingers through Viktor’s hair and pepper his face with kisses.

How Yuuri would look at him with pride and adoration; how brightly those beautiful brown eyes would shine – for him and him alone.

The starting flag swept through the air.

Time to make a decision.

Viktor spurred his mare to life.

So, which would he choose to protect: Yuuri’s heart . . . or his own?

Prince Cassius was a black plume of smoke billowing down the list; all fire and fury as he charged straight ahead – lance poised for a devastating blow.

In response, Viktor slowed; swinging his own lance away from his opponent, sliding his feet nearly out of the stirrups and taking a deep breath.

Viktor loved Yuuri; more than anything else in the world.

And he was about to prove it.

‘ _BOOM CRAAASCHHH THWAP . . . THUD_ ’

A jolt of force, a shower of shrapnel, a flash of periwinkle . . . and then the world went white.

 

*****

 

Gentle fingertips traced Viktor’s brow, brushing his bangs off of his face.

The world was black and heavy.

Viktor sighed, chasing the soothing touch.

“Hmm nnn . . .”

“. . . Viktor? Are you awake?”

“Mmmnnn . . .”

The gentle fingertips were replaced by soft lips.

“. . . Y’mssd . . .” Viktor slurred.

“. . . hm?”

Viktor forced his weary eyes open; blinking slowly in the dim candlelight of his own chamber.

“You missed,” Viktor repeated, his voice like molasses, “M’ lips ‘r down here,”

Above him, Yuuri smiled; leaning down for a careful, chaste brush of lips.

Viktor grinned like a fool, “So . . . did I do well?”

Yuuri’s face fell, as if worried Viktor’s memory had been damaged, “you . . . you let Cassius unseat you,” he whispered contritely.

“I know . . .” Viktor murmured, “wasn’t talking about that,”

He quirked his eyebrows; a failed attempt at flirtatious.

Yuuri blushed anyway.

The Prince ran his fingers though Viktor’s hair, smiling even as his lip quivered, “Oh Viktor . . . I – I’m _so, so sorry_ –”

“Shh, none of that,” Viktor objected, “I’m trying to woo you, here,”

Yuuri laughed, though his eyes glittered with tears, “Mercy . . . this is all my fault,” he sniffled, “I shouldn’t have – I wish I had just – I didn’t think Cassius would –”

Viktor pouted, “Soooo . . . no more kisses for Brave Handsome Knight?” he quipped, still too weak to lift his own head.

Yuuri raised a brow at him; at once fond and incredulous.

Viktor refused to yield, tilting his chin up in invitation.

He was rewarded with a series of soft kisses; slow, gentle and feather-light. He cherished them all the same.

“. . . _I love you_ ”

Viktor closed his eyes, letting Yuuri’s words wash over him like a blessing.

“I am yours,” he replied, “Your Knight – your love – always and forever,”

“Always and forever,” The Prince echoed sweetly.

Yuuri’s hand cradled The Knight’s jaw; his thumb gently stroking over Viktor’s unblemished cheek.

His eyes fluttered open, “so, what’s the prognosis?” Viktor croaked, muscles aching as he nuzzled Yuuri’s hand, “will I live?”

Yuuri frowned, “a couple nasty bruises, nothing torn or broken,” he reported, “Emil said you were lucky not to have cracked a rib. You have to rest until your strength is back. A week or so to be safe,”

Viktor breathed a sigh of relief; he’d lost consciousness after his fall, fading in and out as he’d been ferried from the tilt yard to his rooms. He was disgraced, of course, but other than his pride, nothing else seemed to be wounded.

And Yuuri was still here beside him . . . which was really all that mattered.

“S’good,” he slurred, letting his eyes drift shut, “imagine how embarrassed I’d have been if I’d died in a _rigged_ contest. I’d be the laughing stock of the afterlife,” he joked.

Yuuri snorted, “Knowing you, you’ll never die,” he teased.

Viktor huffed a little laugh, choking part way through and sputtering out a feeble cough instead.

“M’alright” Viktor assured, “M’okay,”

His words were met by silence.

Viktor opened his eyes, searching for his beloved Yuuri.

The Prince’s face was shadowed with guilt; eyes squeezed shut tight, willing himself not to cry.

“Yuuri?” Viktor cooed, “Yuuri what’s–?”

“I was so _scared_ ,” Yuuri murmured, “After the first pass you . . . you refused to yield so I tried to stop it, but all I did was make it worse and then Cassius . . . _that bastard_ –”

A shaking sob escaped Yuuri’s throat, “I thought he had _killed_ you,”

Viktor’s heart broke right in half.

He tried reaching up for Yuuri, but his sore, heavy hands barely lifted off the bed sheets, “Shh . . . I’m alright, my love. I’m fine, everything is fine –”

“It’s _not_ ” Yuuri objected, his tone brokering no argument. He took Viktor’s hands in his, as teardrops glittered in his beautiful brown eyes, “I shouldn’t have interfered. I should have _trusted_ you. I should have just let you joust . . . but after that _barricade_ , I –”

“No, Yuuri . . . no, no, no,” Viktor insisted, “You were right,”

Yuuri blinked back at him, confused and contrite.

“I should’ve yielded,” Viktor confessed, “after the barricade in the first pass. I was in bad shape and should have stayed down . . . I shouldn’t have scared you like that,”

Yuuri let out a long sigh, “I suppose we’re both sorry then” he replied sweetly, “what a foolish pair we make,”

Viktor chuckled; his ribs burned and he coughed again.

Yuuri reached for the side table, drawing a soft, damp cloth across Viktor’s brow. It was cool and comforting against his clammy skin.

“Oh Viktor,” Yuuri cooed, “My sweet, stubborn, Viktor . . . what in the world were you trying to prove?”

The Prince’s tone was filled with compassion.

Shame settled in Viktor’s stomach; a nauseous, bloated thing.

“He was . . . wearing your token,” The Knight answered sheepishly.

Yuuri’s hand stilled.

A low whine escaped Viktor’s throat, “I know . . . I know it’s just a silly little kerchief. It doesn’t really mean anything, and even if it did . . . I know I could never _actually_ –” his voice cracked, “But even so . . . I – I wish it had been me –”

Viktor was silenced by a soft kiss.

“ . . . I wish it had been too,”

Tears sprang Viktor’s tired eyes; Yuuri gently dabbed them away.

“We always knew the day would come . . . when this would have to end. When you would be married to another,” Viktor whispered, “And I always believed that – somehow – I would be able to make peace with it, when the time came. Perhaps I was fooling myself, and maybe I still am . . . but I’d like to think that I could’ve been happy for you – if you were betrothed to a good man. Someone brave and noble and kind. Someone who treasured you. Someone you could talk to. Someone who made you smile . . .”

A tear slid down Viktor’s cheek; Yuuri was openly weeping.

“But _Cassius_ –?” Viktor hissed, “Seeing your token on his chest and knowing it was _him_ – Yuuri, I _couldn’t_ –”

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut as tears flooded forth.

His Prince softly sniffled and wiped them all away.

When Yuuri spoke next, there was no tremor in his voice; his words soft and resolute, “My poor, brave knight – no other man will ever be as good to me as you are . . . and I will never love any other,” he paused only briefly, to press a gentle kiss to Viktor’s forehead, “you just rest now. Everything will be alright . . . I promise,”

Though Viktor fought it a few minutes more, eventually his heavy limbs and shattered heart pulled him back into sleep.

Prince Yuuri didn’t leave his side.

 

*****

 

A week later, Viktor was cleared to return to his duties.

Surprisingly, his position hadn’t been re-assigned . . . _yet_.

“So . . . how does the _radiant_ Prince Yuuri feel now that he’s no longer under the protection of his _loving fiancée_?” Viktor teased, following Yuuri at a pace down the stony castle corridors, “less safe than before, or more?”

Yuuri threw him a look; smirking over his shoulder.

“For your information, _Sir Viktor_ ,” he drawled smugly, “I was never under the protection of my _loving fiancée_ ,”

“What? Then who? No one ever tells me anything!”

The Knight pouted dramatically, causing his Prince to chuckle with amusement.

“Your Squire,” Yuuri replied blithely, “Master Yurio,”

Viktor nearly choked on his own tongue, “No! You’re joking! _Please_ tell me you’re joking!”

“Nope!” Yuuri chirped, infinitely pleased with himself, “I thought it would be a good training opportunity for him. I’m not actually in danger of anything here at home, so why not?”

“Merciful stars . . .” Viktor groaned.

“He has some very _interesting_ things to say, your cousin,” Yuuri remarked.

“Yea, I’ll bet he does,” Viktor grumbled. A thousand and one horrible scenarios immediately sprang to mind, each more mortifying than the last.

They rounded a corner and entered the throne room.

The King and Queen were already there, sitting atop their thrones, along with Crown Princess Mari.

Viktor said nothing, but bowed to each in turn, as he always did; while Yuuri took his place beside his Mother on the royal dais.

The monarchs nodded to the knight in acknowledgement, as usual.

No one was moving to reprimand or dismiss him, so Viktor cautiously took up his regular position.

The throne room was empty, save for the royal family’s three other personal guards. Viktor hadn’t been told what was on the agenda for the day; a fact which was only now starting to gnaw at his insides.

Minutes later, he had his answer.

Prince Cassius strode into the throne room, flanked by his father, ‘The Mountain King’, who was known throughout the lands for being haughty and short-tempered. Behind them, a small retinue of scribes, attendants and guards frantically fluttered about.

Prince Cassius and his father bowed; as did their party.

“My most gracious King and Queen, Princess Mari, my _dearest_ Prince Yuuri . . .” Cassius greeted, “Father and I understand that you wish to speak,”

Viktor’s heart stopped; he didn’t dare to do so much as breathe.

He snuck a peak at Yuuri, but his Prince didn’t seem alarmed; rather, he seemed almost arrogant in his ease, like a card player with a perfect hand.

“We do,” King Toshiya affirmed, regal and commanding.

Viktor knew the King well – not personally, of course, but better than most – and today, the jovial, effervescent ruler was anything but. The Knight had only seen him so displeased on two other occasions in the past; disastrous events which Viktor had all but bleached from his memory.

“We wish to speak about last week’s tournament,”

The world fell to pieces, but somehow, Viktor managed to stay standing.

Prince Cassius smirked, “Ah. Of course, your Majesties. I suppose that is why _he_ is here,” he drawled, acknowledging Viktor with a just of his chin.

The Knight didn’t waver; if Yuuri wasn’t afraid, then neither was ‘ _he_ ’.

“Correct again,” Queen Hiroko confirmed, “Sir Viktor,” she beckoned, “please step forth,”

As graciously as he could manage, Viktor made his way to the front of the dais and stood next to Prince Cassius. He bowed low to Yuuri’s fiancée and his father; then once again to the Royal family.

“Well, Sir Knight,” Cassius preened, “I suppose now is as good a time as any to discuss your behaviour –”

“Oh no,” Princess Mari interrupted; if possible, she looked even more smug than her brother, “You misunderstand, Prince Cassius. We’re not here to discuss _Sir Viktor’s_ behaviour . . . we’re here to discuss _yours_ ,”

Viktor’s eyes widened an imperceptible fraction. Prince Cassius gasped; offended to his very core.

“W-what? This is outrageous!” The Mountain King cried, "on what grounds do you _dare_ –?”

King Toshiya’s voice was soft, but it cut right through the Mountain King’s bluster.

“We held that tournament in good faith. Allowed you your show of strength to celebrate our alliance, welcome you to our kingdom, and invite you into our family,” He explained, “All under the expectation that you would act accordingly; with grace and with dignity,”

“But _instead_ ,” Mari accused, “you took advantage of our hospitality, made a mockery of our efforts with _unnecessary_ cheating, berated your competitors, disregarded my brother’s will, slandered Sir Viktor . . . and subsequently, injured two of our best people – _beyond_ the acceptable scope for a _friendly_ joust,”

“Lady Mila was laid up in recovery for three days; Sir Viktor for _a week_ ,” Queen Hiroko challenged, “Now, I don’t know how justice is served in the Mountain Kingdom . . . but, I ask you, Prince Cassius, how would _you_ repay insults like these, were they directed against _your_ house?”

Viktor was completely agog.

He looked once again to his Prince. Yuuri’s attention was focused on maintaining a calm and stoic visage, but Viktor had no doubt that this was somehow his beloved’s doing.

The Mountain King sputtered, glaring at his son to say something.

“Your Majesties,” Prince Cassius ventured, all velvety sleaze, “you have my sincerest apologies. I of course, meant no insult. There apparently has been some miscommunication. A difference in our two cultures perhaps? Simply tell me how I may rectify my actions, and prove my sincerest intentions towards our fledging alliance,”

He smiled as though he had a mouthful of soap.

“Well . . . therein lies the problem,” King Toshiya objected, “You see, Prince Cassius, if this is how carelessly you treat our Knights, it does cause one to wonder how carelessly you might treat our armies, or our resources –”

“Or our _son_ ,” Hiroko finished frigidly.

Queen Hiroko was a lovely woman; all smiles and sunshine and warmth, even for the humblest in her kingdom.

Now, even Viktor feared her.

Crown Princess Mari raised an eyebrow, “this alliance was to be of mutual benefit,” she drawled, “but our kingdom has always maintained a varied wealth of assets – as I’m certain you are aware – and ordinarily, we prefer to remain self-sufficient. So, in light of these events, we believe it’s in the best interest of our land – _and our people_ – to renegotiate terms that will _ensure_ their rightful treatment . . . if not dissolve our alliance altogether,”

Now, Prince Cassius was sputtering just as furiously as his father.

Viktor could hardly believe his ears.

“What? You can’t –!” Prince Cassius raved, huffing himself into an early grave.

He suddenly caught sight of Yuuri; an idea blooming to life across his face.

“ _Prince Yuuri_ ,” Cassius beseeched, trying his damndest for suave, and hitting a shade below desperate, “my _dearest treasure_ , my _precious love_ , my _darling fiancée_ – _you_ know my intentions have always been _pure_. Tell them this isn’t necessary. Go on, tell them!”

Yuuri’s eyes flickered to Prince Cassius, aloof and uninterested, as if he’d hadn’t been paying attention.

“Apologies, Prince Cassius,” Yuuri drawled, colouring his tone with boredom, “I’m afraid I can’t. I’m far too _weak_ and _fragile_ to endure such arguments, you see,”

Viktor’s heart leapt right out of his chest; he’d never loved Yuuri more in his life.

The look on Prince Cassius’ face was _priceless_.

“Wha–? But how? Who –?”

Yuuri silenced Prince Cassius’s embarrassed floundering with a string of sarcasm so sharp it could cut a man, “Oh yes. Haven’t you heard? Apparently I’m . . . oh, _what was it_ Master Yurio had said?” The Prince paused a moment, feigning contemplation, “Oh yes, that’s right . . . a _flimsy, dead fish_ ,”

The throne room was so silent, one could hear a pin drop.

“I . . .” Prince Cassius stammered, “I – I . . .”

“I believe we’re done here,” Yuuri interrupted, all stone and steel, “Regardless of whether our families choose to renegotiate the alliance or dissolve it, I assure you, Prince Cassius . . . a marriage between you and I will no longer factor into it. My parents and I have agreed; on that point, there will be no compromise. As of this moment, consider our betrothal _nullified_ ,”

Yuuri grinned triumphantly, settling himself back in his throne.

Viktor’s heart sang; refraining from running straight into his lover’s arms only through sheer force of will. He remained in place, still and stoic and nearly humming with delight; discretely looking away to hide the pleasure he took at Cassius’ downfall.

Not to mention, the adorably self-satisfied smirk that Yuuri was currently sporting was doing all sorts of wonderfully dangerous things to Viktor’s insides.

“Mari dear,” The Queen cooed, “would you be so kind as to show Prince Cassius and his father to the map room, and present them with our _new_ trade proposal?”

Crown Princess Mari rose and gleefully did as she was asked.

She exited the throne room, taking Prince Cassius, The Mountain King, their attendants, and the three other Katsuki guards with her.

Viktor turned to join them.

“Stay, Sir Viktor,” King Toshiya commanded, “we do desire to speak with you as well,”

The Knight’s eyes darted to Yuuri, who was now anxiously biting his bottom lip.

Viktor swallowed hard, faced his King and took a knee; bowing his head and inviting his monarch to speak. Now, only he, Yuuri, The King and The Queen remained.

For a long while, King Toshiya was silent; as if not knowing how to begin.

Finally, he took a deep breath, “I must admit, Sir Viktor . . . you have us in quite a _unique_ position,” he sighed, “the Queen and I have spent a _great many hours_ , deciding what’s to be done with you,”

Viktor felt his insides prickle.

So close . . . yet so far.

Well, whatever the punishment, Viktor would bear it with pride; knowing his beloved Yuuri was finally free.

“Yes . . . with Lady Mila it was really rather simple,” Queen Hiroko expounded, “but you’re a much trickier mark, good Sir,”

“Lady Mila, Your Majesty?” Viktor queried, glancing up from behind the curtain of his bangs.

“Well of course,” King Toshiya smiled, “She’s been courting Lady Crispino for some time now . . . we simply petitioned the Lady Sara’s father on the couple’s behalf. He’s finally approved the suit – they’ll be wed by summer’s end! And Sir Leo was even easier than that!” he laughed, “All he requested was a new lute!”

“. . . I . . . I’m afraid I don’t follow, My King,” Viktor stammered.

“A show of strength is one thing . . . Cassius’ blatant _abuse_ is quite another,” The King explained, “Considering _we_ ordered the joust, we felt it only right to compensate you all for your pains . . . and reward you for your loyal service.”

“It never should have gone as far as it did,” The Queen assured, “But the others have been seen to, and we’ll be holding a special summer tournament in a months’ time. A free and fair contest, to honour our brave and deserving knights,”

“So the only question left . . . is what to do for you,” The King said bluntly.

Silence fell over the four, as Viktor scrambled for words, “I – I don’t know what to say,” he objected, “I’m honored, your majesties, and your acknowledgement is more than appreciated . . . but truthfully . . . I'm afraid I'm undeserving of any such reward,”

Viktor took a deep breath, forcing his eyes to meet the King.

“My actions that day were questionable in their own right,” he opined, “and I paid for them in my sick bed. So long as my brashness is forgiven and I am allowed to retain my position at Prince Yuuri’s side . . . I have everything I could ever possibly want,”

The King and Queen exchanged knowing looks.

“Well spoken, Sir Viktor,” the King praised, “you always were the picture of humility. Even so, I would advise you to hear us to the end,”

The Queen nodded her agreement, “I assure you, Sir Viktor, your position is not in jeopardy. Prince Cassius had absolutely no authority to issue or enforce such a flagrantly corrupt challenge,”

“He put you in a terrible position,” The King added, “and true, you responded in kind . . . for a time. But in the face of such turmoil, you didn’t allow vengeance to win out. Despite the consequences – both real and imagined – you remained loyal to your King and Queen,”

“And to your Prince,” Yuuri added softly. His cheeks were dusted with pink.

Viktor swore his heart stood still.

“Eh – yes, your Prince as well,” King Toshiya agreed, caught a little off-guard, “and so, we would bestow our favour on you, as compensation for your pains . . . and as an example to any others who may think to impugn our honor,”

“But more importantly, to convey our deepest gratitude,” The Queen concluded.

Viktor bowed his head once more, trying to ignore the pleased little butterflies fluttering about his stomach, “of course, your majesties,” he surrendered, “I gladly accept any gift you wish to confer,”

The King perked up, “Wonderful!” he declared, with a clap of his hands, “After much consideration, I believe we’ve found just the thing –”

“– it’s not the most grand, I’m afraid” the Queen warned, pulling a small white scroll from her sleeve, “but it was the only one vacant,”

She held the parchment aloft, and Viktor rose to take it.

With a small bow, Viktor carefully peeled off the wax, and unrolled the scroll.

He read the words there once, then twice, then thrice; each time more certain he’d found himself in some mad, agony-induced fever-dream.

Yes – that must be it. He was still back in his rooms; drenched in sweat and burning with fever and imaging all manner of impossible things.

He _had_ to be.

This was _far too_ fantastic –

“This – this is a _patent of nobility_ ,” He croaked at last, “a – a _duchy_. You’ve granted me a _duchy_?”

“Yes . . . but only a very small one,” the Queen apologized, “the Northern Islands are a tad bit desolate, but _lovely_ all the same, I assure you!”

“Don’t look so surprised now,” King Toshiya laughed, “In all these years, you’ve more than proven your worth. A man of your character . . . well, he ought to be in a position where he can do some _real good_ , wouldn’t you agree?”

Prince Yuuri smiled, “I do believe congratulations are in order . . . _Duke_ Nikiforov,”

Viktor very nearly fainted; his heart burned as brightly as the sun.

“Th-thank you, your majesties,” he managed with a rough swallow, “Though I . . . I suppose this means I’ve lost my position, after all,”

He graced them with a dizzy grin, to show he was only joking.

“Don’t you worry about that,” The Prince cooed, with a smug tilt of his lips, “Your previous position will be in very good hands . . . I believe I know a certain squire who’s finally earned his knighthood”

 

*****

 

The soft glow of candles flickered around the royal chamber.

Viktor grinned, stretching out on his back in Yuuri’s nice, warm bed; sated with pleasure and dizzy with joy.

The heavy brocade covers embraced him like an old friend.

Suddenly, the Prince’s face appeared above his; flush with exertion and giddy with mischief.

His hair was tousled and messy, edged in candlelight like a halo.

Viktor reached up with a gentle hand, slowly guiding his angel down for another kiss.

“Hmm . . . comfy, are we?” Yuuri teased, lips a whisper away from Viktor’s own.

“ _Very_ ,” the Duke purred, stealing another kiss, “so comfy, you’ll never be rid of me,”

“Oh no . . . what ever will I do?” Yuuri joked, stealing several more of his own.

Viktor beamed up at him, tracing his jaw with teasing fingertips, “I suppose you’ll just have to get used to sharing,”

The Prince hummed, feigning contemplation.

“Hmm . . . I suppose I will . . . _Duke Nikiforov_ ,”

A shiver ran through Viktor as words ghosted across his ear.

“Mm, _Yuuri_ –”

His sighs were captured by another kiss; one which Viktor felt all the way to his toes.

Yuuri pulled back with a cheeky grin, settling himself comfortably over Viktor, with his head pillowed on the Duke’s chest. The Prince traced absent lines across Viktor’s clavicle; revelling in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Viktor sighed; a relaxed, content sort of sound, “. . . a _duchy_ ,” he murmured, “I still can’t believe they gave me a _duchy_ ,”

“Mmm hmm,” Yuuri purred wickedly, “and the _title_ to go with it . . . _your Grace_ ”

Viktor choked on a gasp, as Yuuri nipped at his ear.

 _Mercy_ ; his Prince would be the death of him.

“Mnn –” Viktor moaned, turning to look Yuuri in the eye, “I wonder, _your highness_ ” he teased, “If they would _still_ favor me so highly, if they knew how _lewdly_ I’d corrupted you?”

The Prince fixed him with a challenging stare, “You’re the one who nearly _died_ for love of me,” he countered, “if anything . . . _I’ve_ corrupted _you_ ,”

A little grin broke through his bluster; Viktor couldn’t help but kiss it.

Yuuri giggled as Viktor retaliated with a hail of clumsy smooches; reversing their positions and rolling the Prince onto his back.

“Mmm, mmnph – oh, wait!” Yuuri gasped, after a moment, “That reminds me –”

Viktor reluctantly allowed the Prince to wriggle out of his embrace. With a playful grin, Yuuri flopped over the edge of the bed to rummage through his side-table drawer.

The Duke slowly sat up, leaning over The Prince to sneak a peek at whatever he was retrieving.

“Ah!” Yuuri yelped, spying Viktor over his shoulder, “Um, j–just wait! Close your eyes!”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, but sat back and did as he was told.

A rattle of clutter, a swish of sheets, and then there was silence.

“Alright . . . open them,”

When Viktor did, Yuuri was sitting a hair’s breadth away from him, with the covers drawn up to his waist. His beguiling brown eyes shone like liquid amber in the candlelight, and his cheeks had flushed the most beautiful shade of pink. He bit his bottom lip, nervous and almost shy.

In Yuuri’s hands sat a small red velvet box.

Viktor’s eyes went wide, “Yuuri? What –?”

“You – you said something before . . . about Cassius wearing my token,” Yuuri stammered, his soft voice swallowing the room, “and – and how you wished it were you . . .”

A thousand and one thoughts flooded through Viktor; none eloquent enough to become words. He nodded; slow and shallow.

Yuuri paused, taking a deep breath, “. . . do you still?” he asked sheepishly.

Viktor melted, “more than anything in the world,” he vowed, reaching up to brush Yuuri’s bangs out of his eyes.

The Prince smiled; warm and wonderful and bright, “Then . . . this is for you. Well, one of them, anyway,”

Viktor took the small box, and carefully opened the lid.

Inside, on a little satin cushion, sat two golden rings; simple twin bands glowing like molten sunshine.

The world’s greatest treasure.

“I thought . . . we could each wear one,” Yuuri explained softly, “a token of our love . . .  that you could keep with you always,”

Viktor gaped; completely dumbstruck by the beauty of Yuuri’s gift.

In a thousand years, he never could have imagined anything more wondrous; every dream he’d ever dared was suddenly coming true, all because of his beloved Yuuri.

With trepidatious fingertips, The Prince reached over and reverently took one of the rings. Viktor wordlessly offered out his hand, and Yuuri slid it on.

The Duke’s heart nearly burst, gazing at his new token.

The promise – the _proof_ – that he was Yuuri’s; marked with The Prince’s love and devotion for all the world to see.

With a shy little smile, Yuuri held out the other ring, for Viktor to put on him in return.

The Duke didn’t hesitate for a second.

Viktor smiled, tears glittering in his brilliant blue eyes, “that almost sounded like a marriage proposal,” he quipped, drawing the Prince’s hand to his lips, and pressing a gentle kiss to his ring.

Yuuri smiled, but Viktor could tell that something was on his mind; an innocent little seed of a thought on the very cusp of sprouting.

The Prince bit his lip shyly, “It isn’t unheard of, you know . . .” he whispered, “for a Prince to marry a Duke . . .”

In an instant, Viktor’s lips met Yuuri’s; their twin smiles making the embrace a thousand times sweeter.

Viktor thanked every mercy in the universe for the never ending wealth of surprises that was Prince Katsuki Yuuri.

He never should have doubted.

With a gleeful smirk, Yuuri pinned him down on the bed.

The royal chamber filled with the sweet melody of their laughter. 

From the moment they’d met, Viktor had belonged to Yuuri, body and soul.

First, as his knight.

Then, as his lover.

Now, as his suitor.

Soon, as his fiancée.

And for the rest of their lives . . . as his husband.

**Author's Note:**

> JOUSTING TERMINOLOGY
> 
> I got most of these from [thejoustinglife.com](http://www.thejoustinglife.com/2013/10/a-dictionary-of-jousting-terms.html) \- apologies for any errors! Terms are listed in order of appearance.
> 
> List Field – The designated area where a jousting tournament takes place. 
> 
> Tilt Yard – The area where the ‘Tilt’ is set up.
> 
> Caparison – The decorated cloth that covers a horse during tournaments - with the jouster's colors or coat of arms.
> 
> Pass/Match – A “Pass” is a single run down the tilt. A series of “passes” between the same jousters is a Match – a Match lasts either 3 passes total, or until one jouster is unseated (or forfeits due to injury).
> 
> Valet – In jousting terms, identical to a Squire.
> 
> Tilt (Center Tilt/Counter Tilt) & List – The ‘Center Tilt’ is the physical barrier dividing the two jousters. The ‘Counter Tilt’ is the outside barrier of the two lanes, either marked or unmarked. ‘List’ refers to the lane the jousters canter down. 
> 
> Heraldry – a jouster’s “Colours”, used to identify them on the field. These are usually a coat-of-arms.
> 
> Garniture – A complete set of armour
> 
> Chamfron – Armour that protects a horse’s face during a joust.
> 
> Failing to Present – Unlike other combat-based sports, in jousting, there is NO defense. A jouster can’t block or dodge their opponent's lance during a pass. If they do, it's called Failure to Present.
> 
> Unseat – When a jouster is knocked off their horse.
> 
> Soft Kit – The clothes and padding worn by jousters when not in their armour.
> 
> Ground Crew – essential personnel for a joust. Those who run the tournament, set up equipment, assist jousters, etc. 
> 
> Knight Marshal – the head referee
> 
> Levée – the act of lowering a lance to strike.
> 
> Ferrule – a metal tube which connects the replaceable tip of a 'Frangible Lance' to the base.
> 
> Ferrule Strike – A hit so powerful the entire front tip of a 'Frangible Lance' breaks away, and the Ferrule itself strikes.
> 
> Ecranche – a small wooden shield, strapped or bolted to a jouster's left shoulder.
> 
> Runner – Someone who collects broken lances, re-usable equipment and other debris between passes.
> 
> Horse Master – A person in charge of all the grooms, and the well-being of every horse in the joust. 
> 
> Grapper (Arret & Grapper) – An 'Arret' is a hook attached to the breastplate of jousting armour. A 'Grapper' is a ring attached to the lance. Together, the arret and grapper help hold the lance in place.
> 
> Vamplate – The flared metal piece affixed to the base of a lance, in front of a jouster’s hand.
> 
> Coronel – The shaped cap on the very tip of a lance
> 
> Shaped Frangible – A type of lance with a replaceable tip. These lances are designed to be re-used; when striking, only the front tip breaks away, leaving the rest of the lance intact. Since these are designed to be re-used, their bases can be more elaborately carved and decorated.
> 
> Shaped Solid – A type of lance which is solid wood all the way through, and does not have a ferrule or replaceable tip. These are designed to be one-use only.
> 
> Gorget – piece of armour which protects the throat/sternum/collarbones.
> 
> Pauldrons – shoulder armour
> 
> Barricade – When a jouster's lance tip swings too far to the left of the oncoming opponent, it forms a 'barricade' across their body. This is an illegal move in modern jousting, because the lance is NOT being broken by striking with the tip – also, the force of the oncoming opponent breaking through a barricade is so great, it causes the jouster to lose control of their lance, which is dangerous.
> 
> NOTES ON PEERAGE
> 
> \- Knighthoods are traditionally reserved for men, while women become part of a different order – usually the Order of the Garter or the Order of the Thistle. The real-life female equivalent is “dame”. However, this universe to has “Knights” of all genders. So Mila has title “Lady” instead of “Dame”.
> 
> \- In this AU, gender doesn’t affect inheritance, which is why Mari is first in line for the throne.
> 
> \- In real life, many noble titles refer to the land which a person rules, not their family name. I tried to be accurate with titles, but I also didn’t want to create confusion. So my simplified system is this:
> 
> TITLE/FORM OF ADDRESS + LAST NAME = FORMAL  
> TITLE/FORM OF ADDRESS + FIRST NAME = INFORMAL  
> FIRST NAME WITH NO TITLE = INTIMATE
> 
> The one exception is Royalty – who are always referred to by their TITLE and FIRST NAME.
> 
> \- The proper form of address for Dukes and Duchesses is “Your Grace”. Normally, forms of address such as “My Lord”, “My King”, “Your Grace” (etc.) are used only by people of lower status.
> 
> So when Yuuri calls Viktor “Your Grace” he's being cheeky and playful (and a little bit kinky), which is why Viktor responds with that joke about “corrupting” him.


End file.
